


Inktober 2017: Amelia Trevelyan

by CherryMilkshake



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Albinism, Drabble Collection, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Falling In Love, Ficlet Collection, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inktober 2017, Partially Blind Character, Past Abuse, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 07:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12626346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryMilkshake/pseuds/CherryMilkshake
Summary: Tales of a woman who was both challenged by the Maker and embraced by Him.





	1. 23/ Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of the short things I wrote about [Amelia](http://cherrymilkshake.tumblr.com/post/130036879809/amelia-looks-nice-in-dramatic-lighting-i-also) for Inktober.
> 
> You can read them all in number order [here](http://cherrymilkshake.tumblr.com/tagged/writing-inktober-because-i-don%27t-actually-own-any-ink/chrono).

She has always wished for recognition, for acceptance, for love. For much of her childhood, it was denied her. By her adolescence, she had resigned herself to being a pitiful, ignored and unwelcome presence in her family's life. She had gone to the Conclave to make a difference, in some small way.

Instead, she found all that she'd been hoping for, and more. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.


	2. 9/ Strings

The lute had been a surprise. When Amelia had first been shown her quarters by an eager Josephine, there was a lute leaned against the balcony doors. It had been many years since she'd played, and she'd had to creep quite close to even be certain what it was. 

When Josephine left, Amelia picked it up and settled herself on the couch, running her fingers over the strings. Full, round notes drifted from her hands, and she smiled to herself, relearning the chords she'd practiced as a child. The lute was a creature that demanded perfection, and soon the sun was beginning to set. 

Startled by how much time she had wasted, Amelia set the lute back up against the doorframe, but she smiled at it all the same.


	3. 10/ Honor

_Honor._ It was a concept Amelia often found herself meditating on. Once, she had sought honor in fulfilling her family's expectations of her—a third child is traditionally given to the Chantry, after all. But she had been refused by the templars, and refused in turn to join the ranks of the Sisters in their white robes and cowardly whispers. 

After that, her family had become even more distant to her. No longer did they even speak her name. She became "our daughter", or worse, "our afflicted one", as if she were some invalid to be kept. Her lip curled. Ah yes, she burned in the sun when her other relatives only darkened, and her hair was wheat-yellow instead of rich black. And yes, her blue eyes saw the world in only smears of color, sometimes doubled when they refused to focus together. And because of those things, she must never be allowed out of the house, she could never _make_ something of herself. 

Amelia felt best with a sword in her hand, and her family name unknown. Those bearing the Trevelyan name had done nothing for her in the almost thirty years she had walked the ground of Thedas (on her own Maker-damned feet). But now she that she had _power_ and _influence_ , oh they poured from the woodwork, claiming to be her dearest friend.

"What shall we do about those of your relatives invoking your name in such a way, Herald?" Josephine asked. 

Commander Cullen's suggestion was the one she took. Openly denouncing them. Shaming them. _You were not there for me when I needed your aid, now you claim I will come to yours? Don't make me laugh._

 _Is that an honorable choice?_ she wondered as he wrote up his orders to send to their troops and departed the war room. Her lips twisted and she found that she frankly didn't care. 


	4. 4/ Compliment

Josephine was helping Amelia read through the stack of missives and letters that had accumulated on her desk when there was a knock on the door. Amelia called for the person to enter, expecting a messenger. 

Instead it was Cullen. She felt a pleased blush climb up her cheeks as she remembered their… moment, on the ramparts—the insistent press of the stone at her back, the tight grip on her hips… 

Cullen seemed to be having similar thoughts, because he coughed and looked away the moment their eyes met, his ears flushing scarlet enough for even Amelia to see. Josephine chuckled. "I'll give you two some privacy," she said primly, and departed in a flurry of rustled paper and quick, purposeful steps. 

Cullen rubbed his neck. "I was hoping we could, um, discuss what happened. Before." He swallowed.

Without letting his nervousness overtake him, Amelia walked to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Any objections on your end?" she asked.

"No! No, of course not, but you're—"

"The Inquisitor, yes, I'm more than aware. Now—" She placed her hands on his face, pulling him in close. His honey-brown eyes swam into focus as he got close enough. "—I want to see you again." She kissed his eyelids. "You are very handsome. I'm a bit offended it took me so long to find out."

"Well, I certainly can't let you forget that now, can I?" he said in a low voice, and they went back to kissing. 


	5. 21/ Fingertips

Amelia often didn't know people's faces. Rare was the person who got close enough for her to do it, and that was only if her weak eye was cooperative enough to focus. So mostly she knew people by voice. Cullen's voice was a favorite—warm, with a bit of roughness from time and life, and a Fereldan accent that made the Marcher in her amused indeed. 

Still, everyone got to partake in his voice, even if she suspected some of the sweetness and softness was hers alone. They hadn't yet put name to this… flirtation between them, but Amelia was determined to change that. 

In his office, he was working, reviewing reports it sounded like, since she couldn't hear the scratching of his pen. When she entered, he looked up. "Inquisitor!" he said. "How can I help you?"

She smiled. "Could we talk, alone?" she asked, and there was a fluttering in her stomach.

Out on the ramparts, the air was crisp and cool against her skin, and his lips were warm. She explored his face with her fingertips, learning every dimple, every wrinkle, every curve of bone. He kept his eyes closed as she studied, ghosting over his pink, just-kissed lips, and his swollen, sleepless eyes.

"You should rest more," she murmured.

He smiled, his eyes opening. "Is that an order, Inquisitor?"

She chuckled, wrapping one leg around his to pull him closer. "Yes, and I'll have to watch you, just to be sure you're following it."

"I have no objection to that," he said, and they kissed again.

It was even better the second time. 


	6. 29/ Invitation

Cullen'd had a long day. By the time he got back to his office, he was nursing a terrible headache, sniffling from the cold mountain air, and was stiff-jointed from standing and walking for hours around the fortress.

He sat heavily behind his desk, groaning as he took a moment to cross his arms and lay his head down. Something poked into his ear. He almost cried as he sat back up and grabbed the little card. A joke from Leliana perhaps—a "love token" from one of his "Orlesian suiters"? He shuddered and opened it.

In dark, messy scrawl it said:

_Cullen-_

_When you can, I would like to see you._

_\- Amelia_

His heart sank. Was the dream coming to an end?

He got to his feet. Better to face it than hide from it. His boots thunked heavily on the stairs as he climbed the Inquisitor's tower. When he knocked on the door, Amelia's voice echoed out, bidding him to enter.

But when he got into the room, instead of finding mournful and serious, she was smiling, sitting behind a small table, a spread of food laid across it, and a bottle of wine sitting in a bucket of ice in the center. "Sit," she said, gesturing to the seat opposite her. "Cassandra told me you were exhausted, and I had time, so I had Josephine help me arrange a proper private dinner." Her eyes sparkled. "Feel free to take off your coat and armor and such. I expect to keep you for the rest of the evening."

Maker, but Cullen loved this woman. He slung his coat over the back of the couch and quickly unbuckled his armor, setting it across the cushions. Then finally, he sat with her. She poured him and herself a glass of wine, and raised the glass in a toast. "To taking a much-deserved break," she said.

"To you, Inquisitor."

As he went to clink his glass, she pulled it back, raising an eyebrow. 

He laughed. "Sorry. To you, _Amelia_."

They had a lovely meal and a warm, enjoyable evening. 


	7. 6/ Water

The first thing she noticed was the smell of the lake, soft and earthy. It drifted on the wind long before she could hear the lapping of the water against the little dock. Cullen's hand was warm around hers as he led her out onto the water, the moonlight overhead turning the blur of his form silvery. 

He was relaxed here, more than she'd ever noticed at Skyhold. He was always careful when discussing his templar training with her—aware than their rejection of her still burned when she thought too much on it—so he focused on the lake itself, and the memories it held for him.

His brother's coin was warm and smooth on her ungloved palm, Andraste's serene face swimming into view as she raised it to her eye. "Humor me," he said gently, closing her fingers around it. "You face far greater dangers than I."

The water lapped against their boots through holes in the wood. With a smile, Amelia tucked the coin into her belt pouch and pulled off his gloves, entwining their fingers. "I'll keep it safe," she said, pulling him close. His breathing was deep and steady as they looked at one another and slowly leaned into the kiss they both began. 


	8. 8/ Impasse

Amelia didn't like the Exalted Council. She understood their purpose, why they insisted upon this farce, but she hated them. Her hand and arm ached, a slow-burning fire in her veins, and the transparent ulterior motives of many-faced politicians gave her a headache to match.

After everything had been forced to a head, and she stood on the brink of having to give up her organization, it was Leliana who suggested a solution, offering a hand out of the political mire in which they'd fallen.

So Amelia entered the meeting hall serious, but confident, the writ of the former Divine under her arm, her new stump on full display for the politicians to look upon—let them be made uncomfortable by the fact she had sacrificed for their safety. "We will bow," she told them, giving them a smile than became a grimace on her lips. "But not to you."


	9. 16/ Defiance

"Do you think we'll just lie down and die, Solas?"

Amelia's legs tremble as she rises to her feet. Her arm burns, bits of flesh falling to the ground as Fadestuff. 

He looks at her, pity in his eyes—pity she meets with a snarl.

"This world is not yours to do with as you please! You protected your people. Now I will protect mine, do you hear me?!" She gasps and swears, dropping back to her knees with the pain lancing through her body.

He grabs her wrist. She can't even feel it. "I hear you, Inquisitor. You will not stop me, but I will let you try. Your death would cause chaos I do not need." The new magic is ice where the Anchor burns. She screams. 

His spell complete, he lets her go. The pain is dull now, throbbing like a massive bruise. "Live well, Inquisitor," Solas says as he begins to walk toward the giant eluvian. "While time remains."

With a shout, she tries to get back onto her feet, to give chase, to throw him off the cliff— _something_ —but he merely looks over his shoulder, eyes glowing briefly. Beneath her, her knees buckle, paralyzed. "Solas!" she screams.

"Your friends will be allowed to enter once I'm gone," he assures her, and steps through, the mirror's shining surface fading to black. 

As it does, her knees work again, and she hears people gasp at the Qunari statues behind her. She turns in a cold fury, her body sweating and trembling. Her arm wrenches painfully against her side.

"You alright, Boss?" Bull asks, his voice deceptively calm against his pale face.

She sucks in a shallow breath. "Solas is going to try and kill us all," she says, and her voice is shaking as much as her body. 

"And we're going to stop him, aren't we?" Vivienne asks, her hands cool where they touch Amelia's face and neck.

"Of course we _fucking_ are." 


	10. 24/ Breakable

Amelia always projected an air of strength, of stubbornness, of resolution. It was one of the things Cullen most admired about her—she held her convictions tight and refused to compromise them. She fought tooth and nail for everything she believed in.

So, seeing her like this—pale and sweating, asleep but restless, (what was left of) her left arm bandaged, bloody cuts on her body and face scabbed and pinched in her flesh… It made him _ache_ in a way he'd never known.

He sat at her bedside, holding her hand, whispering as if his voice would soothe the nightmares. The Iron Bull stood at the doorway, a looming, protective presence. They didn't know when she would wake, but the healer assured them that she would.

So they waited, Cullen murmuring prayers to a Maker he hoped was listening, the Iron Bull silent but for his breathing.


	11. 31/ Final

Amelia died in Kirkwall, in her estate, her daughter and husband at her side. She had been injured in a fight with a particularly powerful blood mage who had been kidnapping noble children for sacrifice. The wounds had not seemed so grievous until they began to rot the flesh from her bones. But the mage was dead and her daughter was safe. Amelia faced her death with a contemplative air. 

Cullen was frantic, finding every healer he could in the city, but none knew how to handle this level of blood poisoning. Eventually, Amelia bade him to stop. "Cullen, I fought to protect _our daughter_ and those children like her. I could never regret that. If the Maker has chosen now to call me to His side, I will not fight Him."

Susanna, fifteen years old and a trouble-maker, had become pensive and silent during her mother's illness. She sat endlessly at her mother's side, squeezing her hand at times so tightly it was as if she hoped to hold her to this realm by force. 

The infection wore on and Amelia's fever worsened, throwing her into dreams. At times she spoke to her family. Others, she spoke to those who were not present. Often, she talked to Andraste. 

Her last words were to Susanna. "Be strong. Be brave. Have faith. I love you."

Thedas mourned the too-young death of its hero, but none mourned so deeply as her family. 


End file.
